


Eventide

by stilinskisoul



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Demons, Alternate Universe - Supernatural (TV) Fusion, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst, Bucky is your dog, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Dark, Demons, Drama, Drama & Romance, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hellhound Derek, Hellhound Derek Hale, Insomnia, Kinda, Mystery, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Psychological Drama, Slow Burn, Smut, Supernatural Elements, also you're a successful author, and with Lydia as your editor, later on tho, parasomnia - Freeform, with a bestseller
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6503659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilinskisoul/pseuds/stilinskisoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The reader has been suffering from nightmares for a long time. Instinctively, she knows they are going to stretch over the realm of dreams and enter reality, but she doesn’t know why. On the night of her death, she prepares to welcome the creature in her home, ready to fight for her life if she must. Then some things happen and suddenly, survival becomes the second on her list of importance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eventide

I’m running in the woods. Something is chasing me. Vaguely, I can remember something like getting here from town, but I couldn’t tell how or why. The preserve is eerily quiet, save for the loud gasping that’s ripping out of my throat constantly. I instinctively know I shouldn’t draw attention to myself, the attention of that  _ something _ that is following me, yet I’m unable to suppress my desperate whining that’s the result of my fear and exhaustion.

The chase ends for me when I slip on a couple wet brownish yellow leaves that’s covering the entirety of the forest floor. I use my hands to deaden the impact, but it’s still not enough to prevent my nose from getting hit – I think it was a root of a tree. I hiss in pain, and I can feel as my ankle is pulsing in sharp pain. I’m already moving my hand to touch it to be able to tell whether I have bones broken or if it’s simply sprained, but I can hear noises coming from behind me.

Automatically, I hold my breath, even sticking my palm in front of my mouth. I want to turn to have a quick glance behind my back, but for some reason, my neck just won’t obey me. A few seconds later, it turns out that it would have been unnecessary anyway – accompanying the sounds, I can distinctly hear the breathing of an animal, which eventually morphs into a sinister growl.  _ A carnivore. _

I know that whatever I’d try to do would be useless; the predator knows exactly where I am. It saw me and it’s approaching me. I know, because its soft paws are getting closer and closer on the wet leaves. A wild shiver runs down my spine, as though I was struck by a thunder. The frantic fluttering of my heart registers as the loud beating of blood in my ears makes me deaf to the world around me.

The blood, that breaks out of my body like a tidal wave in the next moment in the wake of the animal’s claws as it rakes them through my back. I want to scream, but no sound comes out of my throat, making me feel like something has taken my vocal cords, or maybe it has torn my lungs out already. I keep trying to scream and scream, when...

I shout loudly as I bolt up on my bed, pyjamas and body covered in a thick layer of sweat.

My widened eyes are fixed on the opposite wall until I realise it was all just a dream. A  _ very _ realistic dream, in which I felt  _ everything _ , yet it was a mere dream, unreal and safe despite everything that happened in it. It won’t hurt me. Dreams are harmless. My brain slowly switches to the here-and-now instead of the realm of fantasy. After a while, I have the capacity to notice that my pyjamas are soaked in my sweat.

Burying my face in my hands, I rub it, then jump off of the bed. I wobble a bit by the dizziness that takes over me due to the abrupt change in my blood pressure, but it vanishes quickly and I migrate to the kitchen. I crawl over to the counter, massaging my forehead awhile and taking out a glass from the cupboard. I drink up the water in impatient gulps – it’s like an elixir to my exhausted body, refreshing and relaxing. I exhale a relieved breath.

I can hear yapping behind me, making my muscles tense once more, only to realise that  _ I have a dog _ , who is obviously worked up because he could sense my unease. Soon, I can feel that cold, damp nose prodding at me, and I turn around immediately, crouching down and rubbing his head, fingers raking through ebony black fur and hooking into the red leather collar once.

“ I’m okay, don’t you worry,” I whisper. It takes me by surprise too, how much my voice is shaking. I clear my throat before smacking a kiss on my dog’s muzzle and standing to head to the bathroom.

There, I wash my face, throw off my clothes and take a shower. I don’t even wait for the water to turn warm, the only thing that matters to me is for it to clean me outside, too. I suppress every single one of my paranoid fantasies that my subconscious has been bombarding me with relentlessly, close my eyes and just let the water wash away my entire body, flowing down my skin and down the drain.

When I’m ready, I wrap myself up in a white towel, my dog running to welcome me at the door already, looking at me with his huge blueish-grey irises. I offer him a small smile, then go to my room to change into a pair of sweatpants, a tank top and a sweatshirt. After a brief consideration, I forego the bra. I opt to go to the 24/7 shop in town to buy myself breakfast there. I attach the ruby leash to the collar of my dog and jump into my shoes, turning to the animal with a smile, “We’re going out to buy food, sound good, Bucky?”

He barks at me, tail wagging excitedly, then we take off. It doesn’t take long until we arrive to the shop, and there, I tie Bucky out to a rail before entering.

“ Morning,” I greet the guy standing behind the cashier. Apparently he’s barely awake, but it’s nothing to be surprised about; it’s ten to five.

“ What are you doing here?” asks Adam instead of welcoming me. “Too much Adderall, (Y/N)?”

“ Nah, just got hungry and woke up,” I lie. Adam doesn’t need to know about my parasomnia.  _ No one _ needs to know about the nightmares that have been haunting me for weeks. Bucky is the only one who’s aware of them, because he has to witness as his master wakes up with a piercing scream every single night.

I go back to Bucky and we walk for a little longer before returning home. There, I put one of the pizzas in the oven, while the other two in the freezer. For the time being, I take my laptop from my room down to the kitchen – I’m writing a book based on Scandinavian and Celtic mythology. I’ve already published a book under a fake name, which became a bestseller within a couple weeks, and right now, I’m working on the continuation of that. Of course, it’s much harder to find time to write with the university in the picture, but right now, I’m enjoying the peaceful weeks after my successful exams.

Lydia took the role of my editor on her own, without me having to ask her, hence she’s always pestering me to sit down and write. I open my text editor, but I’m only capable of staring at the blinking sign at the end of the last line. My muse completely abandoned me, and I have no idea what to add to the story; what words to use, what phrase to put them in, how to achieve the effect I want to have on my readers...

Instead, I open the help document to skim through the sketch I typed in by way of a reminder. There are notes, too – I always do this when I decide to work on a bigger project, I can never start them without a guideline or a plan.

It doesn’t help much, either. I start to think that my body has just reached its tipping point, and from now on, there’s only way for me downwards, and not back. After all, exhaustion will kill you faster than starvation or dryness. At the moment, it frightens me more than that something, that  _ predator _ , that chased me in my dream.

_Not for the first time._

I rub my face again, as though trying to rid myself of my nightmare, exhaling loudly. Immediately, the picture of me wanting to scream flashes back into my mind, as I got mute for some reason, probably because that animal has already torn out my lungs from among my ribs through my spine, the only evidence of its presence are the vertebrae laying haphazardly on the forest floor around me, getting lost in the sea of leaves.

I bury my face in the heels of my palms, vaguely registering that Bucky is nosing at my thigh, but I can’t find it in myself to react in any way. As for now, I’m unable to do anything else besides sitting on this chair and listening to the low buzzing of my laptop, which is soon accompanied by Bucky’s helpless whining.

“ I’m sorry,” I mumble under my breath, words hardly audible even to my ears. I rake my fingers through the dog’s thick black fur with a hand, mouth curling up in a smile at the familiar silky touch, getting lost and revelling in it. The previous whining is replaced with giddy yipping.

. o O o .

“ Is there something wrong?”

“ What?” I ask, coming back to myself from my daydream. My eyes find Scott and Stiles, sitting from across me, surveying me with worried looks. I try to force a reassuring smile on my features, only to fail miserably. “It’s okay. Nothing’s wrong.”

Scott’s eyebrows furrow and he jerks his chin in the direction of my chest, telling me, “It may work with  _ humans _ , but you can’t lie to me.” I curse the damn werewolf abilities in my mind before vowing to myself that I will find a way to control the rhythm of my heart somehow – even if it’s impossible.

“ Nothing serious,” I try again, but Stiles shakes his head.

“ Even I can see that something is bugging you,” he points out, then adds after a brief contemplation, “Just tell us you don’t feel like talking about it, but you’re the worst liar ever.”

“ Okay, okay, I got the message loud and clear for the first time, too,” I say frustratedly. I start sipping on my shake angrily, fixing the surface of the table with a death glare. A bad feeling begins engulfing me, like somebody is stalking me, but I’m not intend to allow my paranoia to take over me and my entire life.

“ We just want you to know that you can count on us,” reassures Scott, ever so caring. They both know I don’t like to talk about my emotions or issues, but they wanted to let me know that, no matter what. “You can talk to us if you feel like it. Anytime. Even in the middle of the night.”

“ Okay,” I agree quickly, hoping they will drop the subject after then. To change the topic, I ask, “So have you seen Star Wars yet, or we can still bicker you about it?”

Scott groans, which is more than enough as an answer.

. o O o .

We only part our ways in the evening. It has turned dark quite a while ago, and I still have this maddening feeling that someone is following me, it starting to eating me away. My veins fill with adrenaline, and I want to take off running so badly, yet I refrain from it. Instead, I reach into my pocket to dial Stiles.

“ What, you missing me already?” he jokes.

“ I think someone is following me,” I whisper into the device, voice breaking at the end of the sentence. ‘Exactly like in one of my dreams’, I add mentally, but I don’t dare speak it out loudly. There are two nightmares that have been repeating over and over again; in the first, I get torn apart in the preserve, whereas in the other, at home. But both starts with a chase in town. A nightmare can be scary on its own, however, when you realise that it will likely become a reality, it’s just a whole new level of terrifying.

“ What? Are you sure?” His tone is not even the least playful now. “Did you see him?”

“ No,” I admit, automatically glancing over my shoulder. Actually, I have no evidence that someone is hot on my heels, right? Just this stupid instinct that has been sitting on my shoulders heavily the entire day. Silently, I exhale a long breath. “I’ll be home in a couple minutes anyway. Never mind,” I add, then end the call.

After then, I nearly run the entire way home. My nightmares invade my mind like a thick, gooey haze. As I’m fumbling with my keys to get inside, I find my hands are shaking violently with fear. As soon as the door is open, I shut it behind me harshly and slide down along it with my back plastered to it, heart still on its way to beat out of my chest violently. I type up a quick message to Stiles to let him know I’m home, then migrate to the bathroom to take a shower – for the second time today.

. o O o .

My sheets are wet when I bolt upright on the mattress. My jaw has fallen down, opening up my mouth through which I greedily gulp lungfuls of air, like my life depended on it. Bucky is next to me without missing a beat, offering himself to me to confide in, even when I feel like I’m loosing my mind. I’m not even sure when I’m dreaming and when I’m awake. My nightmares have seeped into my days, into my life, and the constant feeling of someone –  _ something _ – keeping an eye on me is never leaving.

But for the first time, I saw the animal.

Due to my book, I recognised the creature, but it only works me up further instead of helping me to settle. Also, for some reason, I distinctly remember a date from my dream – instinctively, I know what’s going to happen on that date.

The day when my dreams become a reality.

“ But which one?” I ask myself. I’m not expecting an answer; it was a rhetorical question, but in my desperation I have no idea what else to do. What else should I be dwelling on? At least I know what I can use to hold the creature back, even if just for a short while.

I get up and go over the same routine as yesterday – while the pizza is being cooked, I stubbornly add a couple thousand words to my story. I think of Lydia, who will refuse it anyway if she doesn’t like something in it. She’s only satisfied if people give maximum performance, and this is the reason why I’m equally happy and afraid; happy, because it’s like an insurance that every single one of my books will be perfect, but afraid, because Lydia can be rude when it comes to stating her dissatisfaction.

I make sure that Bucky has something to eat, too, then I take a seat at the dining table and, pushing my laptop away, I start consuming half of the pizza. My stomach is the size of my fist due to the anxiety, and I have no idea why I think my dream will come true. It’s only natural that I’ll have paranoid thoughts on the long run, but that belief? That is just insane.

My dad comes home half an hour after I finish eating. He works at the police department, and he does the most of the night shifts in the station, hence we can hardly ever have a proper talk. Instead of making a beeline for his room, he approaches me in the kitchen, still typing away on my computer. He clears his throat to earn my attention.

“ Don’t get me wrong,” he starts. “I’m glad to see you in the mornings, but you’ve never been the early bird type. Is everything okay, kiddo?”

A lump forms in my gullet at his question; I know exactly why he asked that. Not only for the nightmares, no, those are just a small part of the whole picture. Nightmares alone can spook you, but they are not necessarily harmful. But in my case, that rule isn’t true. In my case, nightmares can be the embassies of a much worse thing. I swallow hard before opening my mouth to answer.

“ Yes,” I say quietly, then add by way of a reassurance, “Absolutely.”

I can see that my father isn’t the least convinced, but he just nods in acceptance, holding his hand up to say goodbye to me before going to clunk out on his bed.

I take a deep inhale.

. o O o .

In my next dream, I can hear howling from the distance. I know this is going to be the sign of the creature coming for me, the only warning I will get before getting killed.

I try to spend as much time with my friends before the due date as I can. Besides Stiles, my best friend, I don’t neglect Scott, Allison, Isaac, Erica, Lydia and Jackson, either. Returning to an old habit of mine, I start to pay frequent visits to my father at the station – I can’t sleep properly anyway, and this is the only way for me to bring out the most of the time I have left. Since I’m there anyway, I engage in a conversation with Parrish, too. I like the guy, because he’s genuinely willing to help, and he watches out for my father also, for which I’m especially grateful.

On the night of my death, my dad has a night shift.

For the last time, I give everyone a call, just to hear their voices once more – I give myself more time on the phone with my dad, but when he points out it’s high-time he ended the call, I can only nod with my teeth squeezed shut tightly, jaw clenching. I’m not trusting my voice any more; I can’t be sure if I would be sobbing, or I would scream in frustration and ask my father to save me from damnation.

“ We’ll see each other in the morning,” he promises. The calming voice of my father is replaced with the loud, obnoxious beeping of the dead line, which makes my heart twist painfully in my chest. The words, ‘I love you’ were left unheard by my father, for him ending the call too fast.

A few teardrops roll down on my cheeks, but then I remind myself that it’s time, and I begin the preparations; I take the rocksalt, some iron slivers and a piece of devil’s shoestring that I collected in the woods a couple days ago.

Some minutes before midnight, I can hear the sinister howl.

I swallow back the scream that just  _ demands _ to rip out of my throat, and the question, ‘Why is this happening to me?’ is evoked in my mind. After all, I never made any kind of deal with a demon, and  _ demons don’t exist anyway _ . I take the chair that I stood in the living-room, facing the clock on the wall. I took one of my dad’s shotguns, just to make sure I’ll be safe, and a knife that I know is made out of pure iron.

Half a minute to midnight, I call Bucky to myself. The dog stands on his hind legs to put his front paws on my thighs, and allows me to hold his head between my hands as I pull his muzzle to mine to touch our noses together. He’s wagging his tail, so I have to make sure it won’t blur the circle I drew with the salt.

“ Look after dad instead of me, okay?” I kiss the top of his head affectionately. By way of an answer, Bucky happily barks at me, tongue lolling out on the side. I want to add something else, but Bucky suddenly starts snarling wildly.

My heart skips a beat. I turn around with a quick motion, giving myself a clear shot of the creature.

“ That won’t hold me back forever.”

I’m unable to reply, I only have capacity to hold Bucky back from attacking the individual, because I can be sure it would kill my dog without a second thought, too. After all, the hellhound came for me without a reason as well.

“ Maybe for long enough for you to get bored waiting,” I say after contemplating my words. My heart is still jumping in my throat, but the salt is still protecting me, which more or less settles me. The hound laughs at me scornfully, then shakes his head.

“ This doesn’t exactly works that way,” he informs me. He looks around in the room, taking it in, eventually stopping on the couch, taking it without thinking twice about it. His eyes slip to my dog. “I won’t kill that thing, you don’t have to hold on to it like your life depended on it,” he points out nonchalantly, resting his crossed feet on the coffee table lazily, as though not having a care in the world.

“ I’m happy you feel at home,” I mumble sarcastically, earning a half-smile from the hellhound, instinctively tightening my embrace around Bucky.

“ What can I say, the hospitality is excellent,” the hound says, opening his arms comfortably. His cynicism I would definitely like if it weren’t for the fact that he came to kill me.

“ May I at least know why you’re here?” I hiss, eyeing the hellish creature despisingly, matching the disdainful look he’s giving me. The man’s eyebrow arches for a fraction of a second, like this question took him by surprise, but then he just shrugs, face morphing back into a nonchalant expression.

“ Thank your mutt,” is all I’m offered as an explanation, but it’s only good to make me even more confused. My fear is gradually replaced with infinite curiosity.

“ What?” I ask, clearly having no clue. “How could Bucky be at fault for  _ you _ being here?” The hellhound exhales exasperatedly and rolls his eyes, like giving explanations are the biggest pain in the ass for him in the Universe.

“ Box,” he says. The man doesn’t look away from my face, hence being able to pinpoint the exact moment realisation dawns on me after going through confused rage, and being shell-shocked.

“ Oh my God!” I exclaim. Due to the surprise, my arms around Bucky loosen, and he immediately takes off to attack the intruder. He wildly starts towards the peacefully sitting man, and I barely have time to yell, “Don’t!”, my dog is already laying on the parquet, seemingly lifeless. “What did you do to him?”

“ Nothing,” shrugs the hellhound, lazily lifting his gaze back at me. “I don’t get why you care what happens to it. It’s the reason you’re going to Hell after all.”

“ Because he can’t be held at fault for digging up that... thing,” I answer. “Besides, you could have buried it deeper to make sure no one will find it. But of course, it’s not like your interest was for it to never be found.” By this time, clear rage is forming my words. “By the way, you’re a hellhound? I was expecting something more...  _ canine _ .”

“ Don’t worry, I can do my job just fine in this form, too,” he assures, flashing a threatening smile at me, showing off his set of elongated, sharp fangs. “I can demonstrate it.”

“ I’ll pass,” I answer without missing a beat. “Instead tell me about this thing that you came for.”

“ I don’t see the point in it,” he replies easily.

“ Come on, can’t I have a dying wish?” I try. I know it’s useless to ask him not to kill me, because that’s not an option. The hellhound gives me a once-over, his eyes not even fluttering when they land on the shotgun. When he takes a deep sigh, I know I won. For some reason, somehow I know it means the hellhound agreed to clue me in, and not that he’s fed up with playing around.

“ The box that your mutt dug up –”

“ Bucky, if you will,” I interject, only to be rewarded with a death glare. “Sorry.”

“ On the box, the Celtic knots tell a story, or I should say, they  _ warn _ you that whoever owns the box will be killed by the hellhound. The one you have has my sign, indicating that it belongs to me. That sign is also a Celtic symbol – it’s called a Triskelion or Triskele.”

“ What’s inside the box?” I keep asking. The hound’s mouth slowly stretches into a careful half-smile.

“ That, I’m not supposed to tell.”

“ But that was our deal: you tell me everything about the box before I die.”

“ The word ‘everything’ wasn’t explicitly included,” he says, but I make a sad, pleading face at him. He massages the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath through his nose, making his nostrils flare. “All right,” he says in the end. “In the box, there are the remains of my master, so if the box is open...”

“ The bounty on my soul will no longer be valid,” I finish the sentence instead of the hellhound.

“ _ If _ it is open, yes,” he stresses the most important word. It doesn’t cease to wash my giddiness away. “The key has never been found by anyone before. Everyone died so far who was the owner of such a box, believe me.”

“ But they didn’t know about the key, or that their lives could be saved by the contents of the box.” The hound shrugs.

“ There was someone who knew about it, but he didn’t find the key before his due time.”

“ Maybe because their hellhound refused to sit down for a second to negotiate.” The demonic creature’s eyebrow arches once more.

“ Am I supposed to consider this a negotiation?”

“ Maybe,” I answer mysteriously, warily. “If you want, it depends on you.”

The hellhound apparently contemplates his choices; how interested he is in the deal, and what good it would make  _ him _ if he accepted the offered game. He takes his feet off of the table and, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, he rakes his eyes over my figure sternly, leaving a burning path along my skin in their wake. I have no idea why he’s doing this, but I do know that the more minutes I sit here waiting, the more anxious I become.

The murderer gleam never leaves the demonic man’s eyes, which is the main reason for my fear to keep growing. Also, I know well enough that hounds are not the type to rebel against their masters. If anything, my chances for that to happen are as good as having a jackpot on the lottery.

Then his lips part again.

“ Derek Hale.” My eyes widen in surprise. I can hardly believe that this is reality, that the hellhound is  _ really accepting my compromise _ , that maybe I don’t have to die tonight.

“ (Y/N),” I introduce myself as well, however, sceptical as ever, I’m urged to ask, “Why...?” I can’t find the proper words, but they aren’t needed anyway; Derek shrugs as he answers.

“ If a hellhound is sent by his master to collect a soul, that hellhound is forbidden to return to Hell until he fulfilled his job. How much do you think I want to go back to the person whose biggest fun is torturing me 24/7?” I shake my head. Of course he’s reluctant to go back. No one in their right mind would want to return to someone who causes pain instead of a gentle stroke of a palm, and who whispers deathly promises into your ear instead of a kind word.

“ So,” I begin tentatively. “This means you will be ‘chasing’ me forever?”

“ Something along those lines,” Derek nods.

“ Then we’re going to spend a lot of time together, I assume,” I grin at him.

It will only do good for the both of us if we kill this demon. I can also consider it an insurance, making sure I won’t end up dead before the Sun would rise in the morning. Also, the chair isn’t the most comfortable choice of a sleeping place, either.


End file.
